


New Rules

by Alsike



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Heavy Angst, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Top Alex Danvers, Whump, arguably - Freeform, no happy ending, post breakup whump fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsike/pseuds/Alsike
Summary: One: Don't pick up the phoneYou know she's only calling 'cause she's drunk and aloneTwo: Don't let her inYou'll have to kick her out againThree: Don't be her friendYou know you're gonna wake up in her bed in the morningAnd if you're under her, you ain't getting over her





	New Rules

**Author's Note:**

> MaggieWhump, please check the tags. Not a shippy fic. :(
> 
> Inspired by this song:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2qgadSvNyU

Alex just had that smile. When she was at peace, on the sofa, a half empty beer bottle swaying in her fingers, eyelids lowered, her gaze seemed to smoke in its intensity. It didn't matter what they were talking about. By then the lateness of the hour would have taken away the pace of the conversation, the quiet coming to fill up the silences, and all that remained was Alex's scent--sweat and leather and cheap soap--her soft throaty laugh, the presence of her--larger than her wiry, taut body, allowing herself to take up space somewhere she was comfortable--and her eyes.

Maggie knew better. She knew better. But with those eyes on her it felt like the air had gone out of the room, her chest grew tight, and she needed touch or she might never breathe again.

"I'm sorry, Maggie." It was a refrain that no longer said what it was supposed to mean. Now it meant that soon there would be hands on her breasts, teeth flashing sharp against her pulsepoint, and Alex's strength, turning her, pushing her down, the weight of her hand insistent on Maggie's lower belly. And Maggie-- oh she knew what she was doing too, the way she'd unbutton a few buttons on her shirt, the way she'd say she was uncomfortable and slip out of her jeans, the short cotton shorts that replaced them leaving her thighs on display.

Once Alex hadn't even let her change, trailed her silently to her room and when her jeans were off, and Maggie was bending down to pick them up, Alex was there, pressed against her ass, a hand curling around her inner thigh, sliding up, turning to drag her fingertips across the barrier of her underwear.

Maggie had jerked up sharply, surprised. She'd turned, and Alex hadn't even flinched, just smiled that goddamn smile. It couldn't have been dirtier if she'd licked her fingers.

Maggie took off her shirt.

Alex liked to be behind her. Liked to reach around to clasp her breasts, press her chin into her shoulder, make a point of her height, her reach, the roll of her hips against Maggie. If she'd had a dick it would have been insistent, probing at the crevice where her thighs and ass met, her crotch, her mouth, but without one it was her fingers, always slipping in, cool and slick with lube, just where Maggie wasn't quite ready for them to go.

She sucked Alex's fingers when asked. Always from behind, as if Alex didn't want to see her mouth working, see the way her rough press bruised her lips, as if she only wanted the suction, the brush of tongue against her fingerpads, the slickness of her arousal matched in her saliva. And then those wet fingers would work their way down, tweaking her nipples, trailing patterns over her belly, and then parting her, sliding inside her, moving even more eagerly when they felt resistance.

Maggie had spent half her life being tough, but she felt like a little girl again around Alex, the little girl that had wanted affection so much she'd gone home even after getting thrown out just so her daddy could slap her across the face and tell her she was damned and a whore. The little girl who'd let Roberto from the football team move close at the church campfire and slip his hand down her jeans to finger her clumsily, hoping, like a fucking idiot, that maybe he'd call her his girlfriend and she could erase all the bullshit coming out stuff, and not be the dyke. Instead he'd just called her a whore.

Then Patrick Bryce and Terry Pavia had caught her behind the school and pushed her into the coach's shed and locked the door. 

It was fine though.

It was better to be a slut than be nothing.

And Alex pressing her face down into the bed, her fingers inside her, one, two, three, and then reaching across her her hips, jeans open but not off, their sharp zipper catching on her bare skin, and finding a dildo, pressing the head into her, opening her up more, sinking inside her, until the presence was heavy, static, unwieldy, filling her up and bending her around it like a fist shoved into dough, Alex going slow to fuck her with it, knowing her too well that she liked things inside, she liked to be opened up and carry weights within her, she liked Alex's nails raking lines over her ass and having the side of her fist stuffed into her mouth so she couldn't scream.

It wasn't fair, that this was what she'd wanted from Alex the whole time they'd been together, but she could only have it after Alex had grown out of needing her. Alex and her big bambi eyes, pleading for guidance, for the gayducation she'd missed out on, the one who was sweet and romantic and earnest--that was the one who had cried and told her she wanted babies and it had made Maggie want to vomit, because  _ nonono, I can't, I won't, it feels like dying _ \--that Alex was the real Alex, the one who'd told her, 'you're not enough.'

This one, the one who called her when she was three beers in, when she'd brought out the whiskey (a special occasion, only once a week, maybe twice, maybe more), the one who fucked her like the slut she was, this one didn't need her, just wanted her. This one was always throwing her away.

The Alex in the morning was the real Alex again, slipping guiltily out of bed trying not to wake her, tidying up the beer bottles before she left, muttering 'sorry, I know I shouldn't lean on you like this,' leaving Maggie sore and fucked and sore and fucked and so fucking empty all over again.

But it was better to be a slut than be nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> (You are allowed to yell at me in the comments: How are you planning to fix this!?!)


End file.
